Apple Bite
by Starlit Sea
Summary: The colour in her cheeks is a healthy light-red. It looks warm, beckoning for his careful hands to touch the skin. A feverish rush pumps inside his veins and dulls the sound in his ears as a vision of colliding fingertips and sweaty bodies that burn as red as an exotic fruit darkens his stormy eyes.


**Warnings: Religious themes and distortions of the Bible's writings. **

* * *

_Honey, you're familiar like my mirror years ago_  
_Idealism sits in prison, chivalry fell on its sword._

* * *

He baptised it Paradise. Heaven.

They were bodiless forms that wreaked terror, phantoms who gasp for air, their flesh plastered with crumbs of searing earth, of cool fire, of misty rainfall. They were perfectly moulded, created by His divinity with their purpose pumping within their bloodless existence and etched deep within their brainless skulls.

Serve Him and He shall protect them, those who were the unborn dead of Paradise.

·:·

Paradise was chaos.

There was a mistake. There had to be a mistake.

The soil quakes as the voices scream and white feathers fleck the ground. The wind whistles, carrying the salt of tears and the moans of gurgling throats.

When once they stood like monsters, now they had frozen into marbles. Perfect, pristine. The finesse combusts, a womb ripped apart and bleeding water and life.

He who has a length between their legs shall belong to mankind. She who has no length between her legs shall belong to womankind. From the marbles, two pairs of wings erupt.

They were so loved by Him, how could they not love Him back? He, who made them pure.

One such angel, one who is a man, observes himself from the hair on his head, as dark as the night, to the unblemished flesh of his thighs. The woman stretches beside him, with her long hair, as dark as the night, cascading down her wet and glimmering skin.

When her wings are pure white his are drenched in blackness.

·:·

Lone and abandoned by the rest, so he spends his days and his nights.

Stormy eyes narrow towards where He sits and hisses to His clouds with his slithering tongue poking through sharp teeth.

·:·

"Chava."

"Chava," her name tastes bitter on his tongue, "Chava," he whispers as he spins around her fretful figure, "Ava?" he sings, wondering whether she enjoyed it.

The woman scrunches her nose playfully, lips smiling.

"Eva?"

She seems unsure, shaking her head hesitantly.

"Eve?"

Her eyes are big and rosier than any other rose he has ever seen. She offers him a calm smile, cheeks reddening. "Eve."

The colour in her cheeks is a healthy light-red. It looks warm, beckoning for his careful hands to touch the skin. A feverish rush pumps inside his veins and dulls the sound in his ears as a vision of colliding fingertips and sweaty bodies that burn as red as an exotic fruit darkens his stormy eyes.

"Eve," he breathes, breathlessly and the woman claps her hands, her ringlets bouncing.

·:·

Eve helps others. She serves them nectars to drink and fruits to eat. When a young angel is scared of leaving their marble or they need to brush their wings, Eve is there.

During the night, she visits him, bearing gifts, and every time he reprimands her for bothering him. She returns the next night and the one afterwards and only once did he allow her to accompany him.

He likes silence and surprisingly, little, careless Eve likes it too.

When all angels love Heaven and the life someone else gave them, Eve loves the Other sky, the one lit with stars and planets.

"Do you see that over there? He calls it the 'Galaxy'."

He might as well humour her, "Do you want to go there?"

Little Eve who is careless and always too busy helping others, who never loses her smile and she is too kind to waste her nights with him; she is an angel full of her secrets.

"Yes."

Her eyes come alight with old pyres, a fire that screams and moans until it finally splits into two, burning it all and leaving nothing but ashes and embers behind. Her eyes aren't like pink roses anymore because pink roses are small and fragile things, things that he has crushed with his heel.

In her eyes, he sees a flame flickering, blooming into a lush garden with tall trees that carry light-red fruits. She radiates warmth, a fever that beads the sweat on his brow and that chokes all the words in his throat. Fingers trembling with the urge to touch, to explore. To take and never give.

If she doesn't disappear now he will ruin her marble flesh. He will make her as sick as him.

·:·

"I won't be forgiven for the crime I have committed."

No gasp came from her, no scream. Yet she cages him with soft arms and rests her head on the crook of his neck, listening to his pumping heartbeats. "If He doesn't, then I will," she cups his face in her hands, bumping their foreheads together, "I will forgive you."

Blue-grey eyes can finally see the calm in the storm.

·:·

Paradise was lost for him.

A palace of doom reeks of death and disease, sitting in a valley not of grass and blossoms, but of clinging mud and open graves. His sky is a vast, starless black where the sun and the moon are never welcome. The shadows play tricks, haunting the ghosts who still wander searching for their lost wings. He has stopped hunting for the burnt carcasses of his feathers long ago; the sole sign he ever owned a pair lives in the scratches of seared flesh on his shoulder blades.

He crowns his pride not with fine gold and jewels, but with the spiralling horns.

The satyr on top of mountains with the long white teeth that tears one's meat and with the glinting hooves that haunt the ghost-woods with terror.

"Who is he?", "Who is he?", "Shh! Speak his name and you shall burn a second time!", "Tell me, who is he?"

"The Fallen."

The Fallen. The Light-Bringer. The Devil.

The first blasphemy.

He never sleeps; the nightmare of Eve standing by his gates hurts him more than his winglessness.

·:·

And on the sixth day, He created the man and the woman and on the seventh day, He and all the beasts of the land and all the fowls of the sky and all that creeps upon the Earth was guided to rest.

"Of every tree of the garden thou mayest freely eat; but of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, thou shalt not eat of it; for in the day that thou eatest thereof thou shalt surely die."

"I missed you."

"I did too."

·:·

Eve is finer than any marble angel he has seen. A spark in his empty chest booms, lukewarm lust melting in his veins at the sight of her soft eyes and the smoothness of her curves. His tongue slithers, sensing her scent of flowers and wilderness.

Eve is such a fine fruit, better than any apple. He drifts his attention from her navel to her lips; her tongue licks them and he longs for the tingles of her saliva that streams like drops of water down the red coat of an apple.

A giggle stems from her and she covers her mouth with her palms, as he tries not to seize her laughing breasts. "What's s-s-so funny, Eve?" he hisses.

"Your horns," she takes idles steps closer to him, rising on her tiptoes to touch, "they're like a goat's."

"Wait until you hear me bleat like one."

·:·

He thinks of Eve again, her image sewn in the deepest crevices of his mind. Innocent Eve, who forgave him, who cradles his face inside her lap, who is unaware of how he craves to taste every corner of her skin and drink her up like apple juice. Such a sweet fruit should be cherished like her God has cherished His humans with fertile lands.

He could lavish her with all the love and affection she deserves. Lashes lowering upon crimson-coloured cheeks, that apple-red blush to spill down to her neck. Limbs trembling at the sudden rush of an ecstasy unlike any other she would ever feel; a pool of liquid hotness, flames that lick her loins. He wants her fingertips to be unsure and needy, demanding to scratch his fervent skin. He could sprout an ache so delicious, yet so foreign, she would need him to release her from this fire, to mould her melting clay into one piece.

But he would regret it. He already regrets his treacherous thoughts, how he secretly wants her, needs her to stay with him.

Apple trees don't bloom in Hellish ground.

·:·

There is a pleasure that temptations heighten, a forbidden sensation one must deny. But he is no holy man.

The apple bite rests inside his mouth, anticipating the woman's answer.

Timidly, Eve nods.

"I can't promise you anything."

"I didn't ask you to."

He savours the soft apple-red skin as if it was his last, tongue thrusting and drenched into the flood of sweetness, his fingertips caressing a shaking body of pomaceous flesh.

Nothing shifts in her appearance. Only her hair pours over her shoulders, covering the shameful bareness.

·:·

Eve is an apple. Fruity juice sprinkles from her core. He tastes the red flesh and bites her softness, plucking her seeds with gentle teeth.

A bite on her rib, a final kiss on her lips.

·:·

A mourner's clothes don't suit her.

Her daughters are comforting each other. Her son is lost. Her son is in self-imposed exile. Adam isn't there with her, he is outside watching the birds fly away.

He steals her hollow eyes by growing an apple tree near her house.

"I missed you."

This time, he says it first. This time, she doesn't say anything; instead, she runs and buries her face in his chest.

"Your son is well. I will take care of him."

In the back of his mind, he wonders whether she regrets eating that apple.

·:·

His nightmare becomes true when he sees Eve by his gates, her shawl loosening around choppy hair and her mouth dry.

Her cheeks are pale, her eyes are lifeless, her skin has lost its health. This isn't his Eve.

"Adam left," she tells him, her voice steady. "Is my son here? I need to see him."

"He's in Paradise. But he comes here often, asking for his father, the goat-herder. I never understood what he meant by that since Adam wasn't a shepherd."

Her eyes grow shocked.

·:·

"Haa... ahh..."

The ecstasy of sin, the beauty of quenching one's thirst and ending one's hunger by greedily sucking the essence of purity and chewing on bites of innocent flesh.

The climax of Spring, the season that blinds him with fruity fever.

Eden can only flourish in Spring, growing the finest apples. Eve lies in the meadows with the Moon behind her eyes and wearing Eden's treasured temptations. Her fruits are red and ripe, perfect for his picking.

The satyr too belongs to Spring. As her greedy roots wrap around his wrists, he sinks into Eden, devouring all her fruits and drops of therapeutic freshness. The soil must have been quaking, trembling in shame of witnessing the sin. Her leaves jolt, soothing the aching marks on his shoulder blades.

·:·

Her God gives her a new son in place of the one she lost.

·:·

Mukami Ruki feels chills claw on his spine at the sight of the girl sleeping soundly. She settled on the other corner of his bed yet it's the closest she has been since she came here. She used to be a scared lamb, cowering beneath the sight of his fangs and keeping her body small, as if invisible.

Those Sakamakis were too much of a terror for her to handle. He can't believe one of them is destined to be Eve's Adam.

They don't deserve it. He, who stole Eve from her Adam, doesn't deserve it either.

A phantom pain stings and his hand twitches instantly to cover the scars on his back.

_"They're like an angel's wings, Ruki."_

"Yes, perhaps they are."

If Yui chose him, then he can't do anything but prove he is worthy of her apple-scented embrace.

·:·

"Hey, Ruki... are you awake? I saw one of those dreams again."

* * *

_Innocence died screaming, honey ask me I should know_  
_I slithered here from Eden just to sit outside your door._

_— Eden, Hozier_

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**A/N: I just love these two so much. Don't you?**

**Reviews are always welcomed!**


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